


Food For Thought

by FictionalKnight (Northern_Star)



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-25
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:19:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/FictionalKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian learns a thing or two about holiday traditions...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food For Thought

Damian sat down at the table, eyes wide as he considered the amount of food that Alfred had prepared. It seemed completely ridiculous to cook so many dishes, just for the three of them. Then again, there was very little about the things Alfred did that really made much sense to the young boy.

"Isn't that a bit much?" he asked once he'd made certain that there were indeed only three place settings at the table, meaning that they weren't expecting anyone else.

"I may have...miscalculated," Alfred confessed as he lit the candles that were part of the centrepiece. "Thanksgiving has always been a big family affair, but I seem to have forgotten that several family members would not be in attendance this year."

Dick gave him a sad smile. "Or maybe you hoped some of them might decide to show up after all," he said. "I know I did..."

Uncertain that he understood what all the fuss was about this holiday, Damian just shrugged and grabbed the dish that was closest to him - something that looked like croutons with apples and odd looking grapes. But when he dropped the first spoonful into his plate, Alfred coughed in that way which Damian now knew meant, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Setting the serving spoon back in the dish, the boy looked up, arched an eyebrow and waited for whatever explanation about table manners or etiquette he expected was to come.

"We should say thanks before proceeding to stuff ourselves with all this wonderful food," Dick explained. "Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time to reflect on all that we're thankful for; everything that we have and appreciate. It's tradition to say thanks for these things, at least some of them, before dinner."

Damian looked to Alfred, but the man simply nodded, which did nothing to give the boy any real clue as to how he was expected to proceed, and what he was supposed to say exactly.

"Just say whatever you feel you should be thankful for," Dick encouraged him.

Frowning, Damian stood from his chair, then considered the matter for a moment. This had been a hard year. He'd lost his father and was now stuck with a mentor he neither trusted not truly respected, and was forced to adapt to all these mind boggling house rules that he had a feeling Alfred was making up just to annoy him.

"I..." he started, and then he frowned some more. "I don't have anything to be thankful for," he finally said, having only been able to make a mental list of things that he wished hadn't happened to him this year.

"Surely there has to be something," Alfred said encouragingly.

"No, there isn't!" Damian insisted, his voice reaching up to a higher octave, betraying the emotion behind the words. "My father is dead and there isn't anything left for me to be thankful for," he said before shoving the chair out of the way and running out of the dining room.

He ran all the way to his bedroom, then slammed the door shut and threw himself onto his bed, hurt and angry.

Several hours later, Damian wandered downstairs, his stomach twisting with hunger. As he walked into the kitchen, he found himself face to face with a guilty-looking Dick.

"I thought you were Alfred," Dick confessed, pulling out the spoon that had been sticking out of his mouth.

Damian shrugged, looking at his feet. In a small voice he choked out, "I'm thankful to have a place to live and...and a chance to train and be...better." He looked up, his cheeks a deep crimson, and in an impatient tone asked, "Am I allowed to eat now?"

"Allowed--?" Dick echoed, blinking. "Yes, of course you're allowed to eat. What made you think you weren't?"

"I-- you--" Damian frowned, then tried again, "I thought you said--? And then Pennyworth insisted, and--"

"It's just a tradition," Dick explained, "It's a family thing, you know? I thought - hoped maybe - that'd you'd want to be included in that. I'm sorry if you thought you weren't going to be allowed to eat until you found something to say that you were thankful for."

"That was not very clear."

"I see that now, and I'm sorry." Dick walked over to the refrigerator and looked inside. "There's some turkey left if you'd like, and all kinds of veggies. There's even some candied yams, if you want some?" He looked up and over the refrigerator door at Damian, as if waiting for an answer.

"Candied yams?" Damian finally asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's that?"

Dick's eyes lit up. "Oh, you're going to love it." He pulled a big bowl out and set it on the counter, carefully removing the aluminum foil covering it. As he started transferring some of the contents onto a plate, he added, "It's, um... well it's yams, those are kind of like sweet potatoes, and marshmallows. It's a pretty traditional Thanksgiving dish."

With a disgusted look on his face, Damian said, "You have weird traditions and holidays that make no sense."

"You think?" Dick said. He reached into the refrigerator for some more dishes, then in a chuckle added, "I suppose this means you haven't heard of Santa, or the Easter Bunny, yet, huh?"

"Do I want to?" Damian asked, still looking very much disgusted.

"Knowing Alfred, I don't think you have much of a chance escaping any of it," Dick said as he proceeded to fill the plate with leftovers, before placing it in the microwave to heat up.

For a long moment, the only noise in the kitchen was that of the microwave oven. Then, finally, Damian risked asking, "Just how many of these holidays are there in a year?"

Dick shrugged. "Probably too many," he said. "But... look on the bright side, Alfred always goes all out, cooking all this amazing food."

"Amazing?" Damian said, an expression of disbelief in his eyes. "You mean weird. Like _candied yams_ and that thing with the croutons."

Laughing to himself, Dick carefully handed Damian his plate. "Eat. You'll like it."

Damian shrugged and dug right into his plate of leftovers, going straight for the orange stuff which he guessed were the yams. "I hate it," he lied a moment later, mouth half full of candied vegetables, though the grin he was trying to hide pretty much gave him away.

"Of course you do," Dick replied in a chuckle. "And I bet you'll hate pumpkin pie most of all."

Damian gave him a small smile. "Thanks," he said, then went back to his yams.

=> End.


End file.
